


Invisible Ink

by Topsy12



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topsy12/pseuds/Topsy12
Summary: "Why is Ferre angry with you?" Enjolras demanded."Why would you think he's angry with me?" Courf raised the mug to his lips under the guise of taking another sip but Enjolras caught the slight smirk on his face. "I know you did something. Out with it.""Why on earth would you assume I did something? Ferre was the one that got banned from the tattoo parlour." (Or that time Combeferre went to get a tattoo and got banned instead - and it was entirely Courfeyrac's fault.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to:  
> Anna - for reading the fic and giving me the confidence to post it,  
> and Charlotte - for being able to overcome my failings and give the fic a title. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Combeferre had always been considered the normal one. Throughout his life, during school, sixth form, university, at his job – wherever he went, he was known as the “ordinary” one. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have his fair share of eccentricities, oh no, he did. From his moth collection to his slight obsession with the way old books smelt, to his love, against all logic and science, of tarot cards and the spiritual plane. But, despite these eccentricities, he was normal. He was calm, he wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts, he was logical, enjoyed Sudoku, and he didn’t drive a beast of a car despite his healthier-than-most pay cheque, and, perhaps most importantly of all, he the voice of logic and reason to Courfeyrac and Enjolras’ rather more exuberant qualities. 

Ferre was the person to look after people on a night out. He made sure they got home safely and placed a glass of water and painkillers beside their bed. He persuaded Enjolras to take things easy when he caught the flu but didn’t have the time to “lie down on the couch and do nothing, for goodness sake. There are rallies to be organised. Dammit, Combeferre, put down the chicken soup. No, I don’t need painkil– dammit, I’m not sick!” 

During exam week in Courfeyrac and Enjolras’ third year of university - Ferre was two years older and had long since graduated - Ferre was the one that kept Courf fed when he managed to forget about simple bodily functions. He kept the cupboards stocked of 70% dark chocolate, doughnuts and Swedish Fish for during the day, and cooked a meal and made them both leave their rooms and sit at the table ‘without the books, E, it’s food time now. Just because it’s exam period doesn’t mean you can’t be civilised.’

All of those things added up to make Combeferre ‘normal’ – or at least the most normal out of the Les Amis in any case, for really what did normal even mean – which was why watching Ferre storm into the coffee shop in a fit of rage was so completely and utterly shocking. Of course, Ferre’s fit of rage wasn’t what most people would call a fit of rage. Ferre really wasn’t one for public displays of emotion. The slight bang of the door was most likely caused by the blustery wind, and the “Excuse me, please” was slightly terse yet perfectly polite, however there was still a slight twist to his lips and a narrowing of his eyes that practically screamed ‘don’t test me.’ The way people moved out of his way and shuffled in their chairs certainly made it seem that the others occupants of the coffee shop had noticed. If they hadn’t, the way Ferre dropped his bag beside his chair, sat down calm and quietly without saying a word and simply stared in a distinctly Ferre way would let anyone one else in the vicinity know that he was slightly more than annoyed. The waitress, who had been perfectly attentive and rather chatty beforehand, certainly noticed, or so it would seem with the sudden way she found something to do on the other side of the shop. 

Enjolras and Grantaire cast each other a worried glance. 

Silence reigned over the three of them, heavy and uncomfortable, yet neither Enjolras nor Grantaire were willing to break it. Grantaire kept nudging Enjolras, nodding at Ferre and trying to get Enjolras to talk to him. Enjolras, having seen Ferre’s attempt at stripping paint from the wall with simple look, knew that was something he definitely up and, perhaps slightly cowardly, most definitely didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t know how to handle this totally out of character Combeferre. Emotional outbursts and how to deal with them was not part of his varied intelligence. Normally it was Ferre who dealt with those who were suffering. 

Really now, what did Grantaire expect him to do? Pat Ferre’s arm and say ‘there, there’ until the fury went away? That was just stupid, and he tried to let Grantaire know with a look. His look became even more pointed when Ferre, still silent and staring at the wall, began a slow repeated tap...tap...tap with his finger against the arm of the chair. 

Enjolras winced. Oh boy, this was bad. 

Steeling himself and half wishing he’d ordered a shot of alcohol in his coffee like Grantaire had, and knowing the three of them couldn’t simply sit in a coffee shop in silence for goodness knows how long, Enjolras finally worked up the courage to speak. 

“Wha-“ Enjolras began, but was cut off abruptly by the energetic entrance of Courfeyrac, who bounced into the coffee shop with his usual level of vigour.

Bounding over to them, pulling his scarf from around his neck and whipping off his gloves, Courf grinned at them and dropped his garments onto the table. “Woo, it’s freezing out there,” he said, pulling up one of the chairs from the next coffee table after asking the older couple sat there if anyone was occupying it. The charming and slightly flirtatious smile, as well as the wink he shot at the women in gratitude would normally have made Enjolras roll his eyes if he hadn’t noticed Ferre’s cheek twitch. 

Enjolras waited until Courf had dropped into his seat before he demanded “What did you do?”

Courf, ignoring E besides raising an eyebrow, leant over and swiped R’s mug. Taking a quick gulp, he grimaced. “Really, R, it’s eleven in the morning.” 

“Hey,” Grantaire grumbled. “That’s mine, not yours.” He made a grab for the mug and frowned as Courf held the mug out of reach. “If you’re going to judge, you don’t get to drink. It’s five p.m. somewhere.”

“I’m not judging the fact that it’s alcohol, I’m judging the choice of alcohol. Bailey’s, R? Really? Bailey’s is a mum’s afternoon tipple, not a fortifying get-the-blood-racing drink. Bailey’s is only acceptable at Christmas. Or,” he glanced over and shot a magnificent grin at Ferre, “I suppose it’s allowed if you’re drinking it from someone’s belly button. Isn’t that right, Ferre?” When Ferre refused to look away from the wall, the tapping of his finger still continuing, Courf’s grin dimmed a little but refused to fall from his face completely. “Anyway, I thought you appreciated alcohol. Real alcohol.” Shaking his head mockingly, he gave a huge sigh. “Guess I was wrong.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and, signalling for the waitress who had finally worked up to courage to come closer despite Ferre’s not-quite-scowl, ordered a round of three coffees and one hot chocolate, all of them with a shot of scotch in them. 

Courfeyrac batted his eyes at R and mouthed the words ‘I love you’.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras said in his 'I'm-warning-you' voice.

"Enjolras," Courf said, imitating the sing-song tone. 

Enjolras’ eye twitched as Ferre's finger tapping somehow seemed to get louder-except that couldn't have happened because Ferre didn’t do things like that.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"Enjolras I'm sure I haven't got a clue what you’re asking. I've done a great many things so far this morning." 

"Why is Ferre angry with you?" he demanded.

"Why would you think he's angry with me?" Courf raised the mug to his lips under the guise of taking another sip but Enjolras caught the slight smirk on his face. Courf didn't lower the mug after his sip, hiding his mouth and the gleeful grin that was spreading across his face.

"I know you did something. Out with it."

"Why on earth would you assume I did something? Ferre was the one that got banned from the tattoo parlour."

Enjolras and Grantaire's heads both snapped to Combeferre, astonishment on their faces.  
Grantaire's mouth opened, a question playing on his lips, but the waitress appeared with their drinks before he got a word out. 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the four of them as the waitress unloaded their drinks, shooting nervous glances at the four men before slowly backing away with her now empty tray held in front of her like a shield. "Erm... the bill?" she asked hesitantly.

"Can we pay afterwards?" Courf asked sweetly. "We'll be here for a while."

She nodded gratefully and walked away, still shooting glances over her shoulder as she did so.

"You..." Grantaire began but trailed off, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Enjolras didn’t blame him. He too was shocked that Combeferre could have done anything to warrant being banned from somewhere. Cool, calm, collected Combeferre? Impossible. 

"You were..." Enjolras began, trying and failing to pick up from where Grantaire had left off. He glanced between Courf and Ferre. "How exactly were you banned from a tattoo parlour?"

Combeferre finally stopped tapping his fingers on the chair. He calmly leant forward and picked up his mug. Ferre took a slow sip, his knuckles white as they gripped the mug tightly.

"Yes, Courfeyrac," Combeferre began, his voice dripping ice. Courf and Enjolras both winced at the use of a full name- Combeferre only used full names when he was angry. "How _exactly_ was I banned from the tattoo parlour?"

Courf rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, how was it my fault?"

"How was it- You kept reading smut aloud whilst the artist was trying to tattoo my back!" Ferre snapped.

"I would hardy call that smut! We hadn't even got to the best part!"

"Beck had just bent Johanssen over a desk!"

"Exactly! There hadn't even been penetration yet!"

"Purely for the fact the artist didn't allow you to finish reading it before he threw me out!"

"Pfft, please. If that guy can't even concentrate whilst someone is reading their friend a simple story-"

"You were reading smut!"

"You didn't even want to be there!" Courf cried. "You tensed as soon as you saw the guy! You saw the tattoos on his arms! Anyone who proudly displayed that mess of a sleeve wasn't the right person for you and you know it."

Ferre gaped at Courfeyrac. "Wha-"

"He was about to tattoo a fricking Cyprus tree up your spine for Christ's sake! A _Cyprus_ tree! Of all the trees to pick, you were gonna let him draw a fricking Cyprus tree." Courf shook his head in disbelief. "A poor judgement, my friend. I simply couldn't allow it to happen!"

"You couldn't allow-"

"I've never seen someone so less suited to a Cyprus tree. Do you know what a Cyrus tree symbolises? Sacrifice, Ferre. I know you do a lot for us but you do not symbolise sacrifice. You're an Oak if ever I saw one. Or maybe an Elm tree..." he trailed off and studied Combeferre thoughtfully, a finger tapping on his lips as he considered Ferre’s body. "Hmm, this might take some thought. Certainly more thought than you put into it, anyway."

"More thought…" Combeferre spluttered. "I spent weeks thinking about that tattoo. It was simple, it was clean, it went up my spine, it wouldn't show too much beneath my shirts for work, which is exactly what I wanted. It was perfect!”

"Yes, but it wasn't right," Courfeyrac stated sagely.

"I... you..." Combeferre looked to Enjolras and Grantaire for help but they both sat with their mouths slightly agape, neither fully comprehending what exactly was going on before them. Ferre frowned at them before refocusing on Courf. "That doesn’t matter. You got me _banned_ from a tattoo parlour!"

"Oh, is that what this is all about?" Courf waved a dismissive hand. "I got you banned from a _shit_ tattoo parlour. It's hardly worth fretting over."

Ferre closed his eyes and shook his head, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath, though it sounded suspiciously like 'give me strength'. He rubbed at the frown on his forehead, as though trying to wipe away the creases on his brow. "You're not coming to the next appointment."

“What?” Courf asked, sounding wounded. “But-“

"Quit whilst you're ahead, Courf." Grantaire said quietly. 

Courf signed and sat back heavily in his chair. "Fine. At least let me pick a better parlour. And help you pick a better tattoo. Tattoos are permanent, y’know. You can't just go around making decisions willy-nilly."

Ferre rolled his eyes. "Yes, Courf, I had realised that."

"Good. Now I'm seeing a vision of an oak tree. Lots of roots. Big branches. R, get out your sketch pad. We can start doodling some ideas!" he said cheerfully. 

Grantaire, exasperated, sighed but complied. 

Courf’s chair screeched as he pulled it around the table next to Grantaire and the two of them bent their heads together, Courf murmuring as Grantaire’s hand began swiping furiously across the page, pencil rasping as it went. 

Enjolras shuffled closer to Combeferre, feeling more comfortable around the man now that the twist of his lips and the tapping of his finger against the armchair had stopped. 

"You know he's not going to let you get the tattoo without him, right?" Enjolras asked, watching the other two fondly. 

"I know," Ferre said, sounding normal once again. Gone was any trace of the anger which had been dripping from his voice before. "I let him get away with far too much.”

"We all do."

Enjolras and Ferre watched the pair designing Ferre's tattoo as they sipped from their mugs of coffee. Enjolras felt a smile tugging at his lips and he tried to hold it firmly in check, slightly wary of prodding the angry bear inside Ferre, but after a few minutes of trying he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

It took a moment for Ferre to notice. "What?" he asked, looking rather wary, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"You were banned from somewhere.” Enjolras said simply, letting out a bark of laughter “You. Combeferre. The normal one. You got banned."

Combeferre sighed. "I'm never going to live this down."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely based on my group of friends and this is something I can definitely see our resident Courfeyrac doing if (read when) he accompanies someone to get their first tattoo. 
> 
> It's my first ever (completed) fanfiction so I would very much appreciate any kind of feedback. Apologies for any typos or errors - this was was only given a very quick cursory glance before it was posted and I'm sure there'll be some kind of mistake somewhere. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
